The L game
by ink-wells
Summary: Hermione has always been meticulous on the run. So when she's outplayed by the trickster, and ends up as a slave in Malfoy Manor...she rewards Draco with her body, but never with her mind.


The sirens sounded at 4:30

"Shit! We're being raided!" a girl cried further along the basement. All of them risked tooth and nail to curl up in these cramped conditions, in order not to be caught outside. Ever since the war finished, there was terrible stories of muggles being sold into the slave trade.

Hermione crammed the book she'd been reading under torchlight, back into a bag, and crouched on all fours. Everyone was silent, as a door banged upstairs, and three deatheaters walked in.

"Alright Florean."

"Alright."

"Not harbouring any muggleborns like poor old Ollivander, are we?"

They clearly meant it as a sick joke.

"Wouldn't dream of such a crime," Florean said through gritted teeth. "Do you gentlemen want anything?"

"Two vanillas and a _liar _please."

Hermione knew the jig was up. Florean, bless him, made a great show of consulting his menu just as the deatheaters pulled out their wands and pointed it at his face. "I can do vanilla," he said calmly. "But the other one is a bit out of my reach. _Adios." _Probably not wanting to share a similar fate to Ollivander, Florean disapparated with seconds to spare.

This left the entire group shielding downstairs, to break out into screams.

"They're going to kill us!" a boy lamented, whilst the sounds of destruction rang clear. The deatheaters were proper going for it. Jets of beams caused tables to explode, and customers to flee.

"If they catch us," Hermione patted him on the shoulder. "Don't give up yet!"

The boy wiped his hand against his snivelling nose, and shot her an accusotory glance. This quickly turned into a comical widening of eyes, as he realised the bushy rat-headed girl was none other than Hermione Granger. She was the most infamous muggle out there! Her exploits were well followed on Grangerwatch, by hopeful fans.

"Now is not the time to get starstruck," Hermione dropped her hand, despairingly. "If you want to escape; listen."

"What are you doing here?" the boy gawped. "Is Harry Potter really dead?"

Hermione's face fell, but was quickly replaced by terror, when the deatheaters started rattling the door leading to their hidey-hole. People were already apparating to safety, not bothering to be discrete about the noise. If the deatheaters were running on a hunch before, it was all but confirmed now.

"WE NEED TO GO!" Hermione roared. "NOW!"

"But-"

He didn't have a chance to disagree, before his collar was jerked in her hand, and they were squeezing into darkness. Hermione would've landed upright, but the boy took it a step further, and landed on top. For a few awkward seconds they tussled for a dominant position, before Hermione pushed him lengthways.

"Geroff!"

"That was fun," the boy panted, scrambling to his knees.

"Are you _out of your mind?" _She pointed at a dark blur on his skin. "You've been injured!"

The boy looked down, and turned his back so he could readjust his sleeve. He didn't want her to wander over, and ask if she could do something worthwhile, like treating his bruise. He pressed two fingers deep into the joint, and bit his lip when pain sheared his insides.

"I need to pee," he choked out. "Set up camp."

Hermione watched with wide eyes, as the boy struggled off into the foilage, trying to undo his zip. This was her cue to disappear. Two years on the run, had made her into a slim hunting machine that worked alone. Occasionally she slipped into Diagon Alley, to gather vital information, but she was usually gone when the attacks came.

This boy was 15.

There was no way, she was going to be lumbered with a 15-year-old.

"Freeze mudblood."

The hackles on her back rose, when the owner of that voice stepped out of the forest. It was a familiar owner. One that she knew back from her Hogwarts days, and sported platinum hair over a pointy face. Draco Malfoy kept his wand trained on her, barely containing his delight.

"I can't believe I caught you!" he self-congragulated, before coming down to Earth. "The others are coming."

"If you did anything to that boy-"

"What boy?"

Malfoy made the mistake of casting his eyes side to side. Hermione took that opportunity to full-body-bind him, and apparate in a tight circle to somewhere she was altogether more comfortable. The cave she called her home swam into view, and Hermione collapsed on the ground to the sounds of wild, untamed sea crashing against the rocks.

A hot cup of soup later, and guilt was hammering with tongs.

For her own safety, she had left that boy behind. That full-body-bind was cast as a last act of kindness, for that boy to run far away as possible, free from the clutches of deatheaters. But what if he hadn't? What if he was still waiting there, rocking himself in the cold, until she came back?

Hermione's gut churned.

She didn't want to go back there. But this really wasn't about her, was it?

All she had to do, was go and peek. One last chance to reassure herself there was nothing to worry about.

Setting down the last dregs of her soup, Hermione stood up and stretched. There was no use putting it off. Before you could say "Bob's your uncle," Hermione was in the same part of the forest, she left hours earlier. Malfoy's body was missing - which was strange. But then he did tell her "others" were coming.

Hermione told herself not to cry. The boy was probably dead by now.

"H-Hermione?" someone shivered behind her, and she nearly crumbled in happiness. The boy was sitting on a rock, not far from where Malfoy's body was lain, and was rubbing his arms to keep warm. At some point, the Heaven's had opened, and his shirt was sticking to his frame. Brown hair clung indecently to his forehead.

"I-I knew you would come back for me."

Was that a shadow of a smirk?

"Of course I came back to you silly," Hermione was pulling off her cardigan, and wrapping it around his bare arms. "It wouldn't make sense if I left you out here on MY behalf."

"Why?" he looked up at her, all sweeping eyelashes. "Has no man ever waited for you before?"

Hermione spluttered, nonplussed such a young lad was hitting on her. Wasn't he meant to be 15? And wasn't she 22? What the hell was he doing, flirting with a senior a Hogwarts generation older than him? Maybe this was teenage-boy syndrome. It was common for _boys _of this age, to fantasize about someone much older.

Not wanting to entertain him, Hermione finished securing her cardigan and stood up.

"Did you see the blond deatheater?"

"You mean Malfoy?"

Hermione stopped scanning the trees, and fixed her shocked gaze on the boy. Everyone her age knew him, because it was kinda hard to miss the blond git turned deatheater smirking in every class. But what about him? What was _their _history?

"I saw him whilst I was hiding in the trees," he admitted. "A bunch of deatheaters showed up, got angry that he lost you, and then helped him limp away."

"Fantastic," she crowed. "Malfoy-0. Granger-1."

The boy shivered even harder.

"Can you take me to your place?" he looked up hopefully. "I don't want to stay out here any longer."

Expectantly, he reached out and slid a hand into Hermione's. She stared down at their clasped grip, and tried to ignore the niggling doubt that told her taking _anyone _to her hide-out was a bad idea. The poor boy looked like he was on the cusp of catching a cold. The mumsy side of her, wanted to bundle him up and feed him cups of soup.

"Please?"

Oh Merlin. Who could resist those eyes?

"Fine," she relented. And then they were squishing through, and landed far more smoothly on the otherside than they did the first time. Hermione hurried over to reboil the kettle, whilst the boy examined her little alcove. He looked ready to pass out, but couldn't stop himself from laughing.

"Seriously Granger? _This _was how you evaded capture?"

"What's wrong with it?" she replied, affronted.

"Ingenious really," he clapped a hand on his thigh. "All those deatheaters searching high and low, from noble establishments like Oxford, to the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade. But you're _here! _Where are we?"

"You don't need to know," she shoved the boiling cup in hands. "Drink that, and go to sleep!"

"Let's talk," he took great pleasure on seating his behind atop the only pillow she slept on. Hermione reluctantly sat in front of him (cross-legged) and watched as he took tentative sips like it was poisoned. She was beginning to wish that it was. "Is Potter really dead?"

"Is that all you want to know?" she wrenched the pillow from under him, and swatted his face. "Next question!"

"Well, it'll explain why you're living like a hermit," he muttered under his breath, before clearing his throat. "And how long has this arrangement been going on? It's only a matter of time till you're discovered."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence." She swatted him again with the pillow. In order not to spill the soup, he put the cup down and protectively covered his face with both hands.

"Just stating the obvious! Can we go to sleep now?"

Embracing "Squatters rights," the boy had cheek to grab her pillow and lay out prostrate in _her _sack. He peeked over to see if she was following his example, and quickly snuggled back into her pillow again. Since she took special care to wash her hair with coconut shampoo, the bastard probably couldn't believe his luck.

"Are you asleep now?"

"No," Hermione grumbled, punching the loose dirt in a fit of desperation. She could easily summon another pillow to match her needs, but then that would be like saying she didn't miss her old one. Giving one last glare at that dratted boy's head, Hermione snuggled down to catch a few Zzzzzz's.

ooo

The boy waited until the early hours of the morning, before the itch on his wrist could be abated. The cool long sighs told him his female companion had slipped into a slumber that could be disturbed any moment. Stepping over her body, he crept out of the entrance and raised a sceptical eyebrow at the torrid sea below.

"Muddy," he sighed.

The moon went behind a cloud, and a magical charge flew over the alcove. The boy's hair began to whiten and elongate, and limbs grew at a startling pace. Malfoy stored the wand in his back pocket, and ducked under the low rim.

"Wake up, Muddy," he toed her cheek with his boot. "The game's over."

**AN: Reread carefully for major clues :)**


End file.
